"Mmm, that feels good, honey," purred my mom as I began rubbing lotion on her feet in preparation for her foot massage. Her long day at work had left her depleted slightly more than usual, and nothing seemed to relieve her stress more so than one of my patented foot massages. It was something I had come to master over the years, even though the only feet on which I had practiced my skill were those of my mother.
For as far back as I can remember, my mother and I have been very close. Being an only child and the son conceived from a one-night stand when she was only a teenager, mom took great care in pampering me throughout my life. She busted her butt working multiple jobs just to provide for my childhood needs, and when I had reached the legal working age in the state, I willingly accepted a part-time job to help alleviate her burden.
Mom didn't have any siblings, and her parents lived on the other side of the country, leaving the two of us to fend for ourselves. She avoided men for the most part throughout my upbringing, mainly to avoid the unwanted possibility of having to raise another child on her own, but also because she knew that I wouldn't allow it. We had spent so much time together that I had become attached to her, wanting to go with her wherever she went, and becoming jealous of anyone and anything that kept her presence from me. I even decided to attend the small local university in our town and forego a more credible education somewhere farther away just to stay at home with her, to her delight as well. I was her 19-year old son whom she would introduce to others as "her man". It always brought a smile to my face whenever we were out in public and strangers would mistake us as lovers rather than mother and son, which was an honest mistake given my mother's very youthful looks and my growth spurt at 18 years of age. Mom would always relish those moments and play into their hands by fawning over me like her boy toy, even going so far as kissing me on the lips from time to time in order to add to the deception.
In truth I wasn't sure why mom hadn't dated any other men during my lifetime, or rather how she was able to fend off the men who chased after her! She has a beautiful figure that most women far younger than she would have killed to have, and she honestly looked better than many of the girls I saw walking around town. Her short stature only added to her compact features, as her legs were very shapely toned, her butt was still plump and firm after all these years, and her nice breasts seemed to reveal no sign of gravity's effect upon the human body over time! Best of all were her lovely feet and gorgeous toes, which I kept nice and trim with massages and pedicures. She liked to wear her hair short with her brown bangs hanging just above her eyes, and her smile would send shivers down any man's back.
As I was beginning to massage her feet, I couldn't help but look up and notice her perfection as she reclined back on the couch. She had just taken a warm shower and had nothing but a towel wrapped around her body, and her reclined position caused the ends of the towel to slightly part. As I began to rub her feet to the sounds of her relief, I couldn't help but wonder what she must look like underneath the towel. Thoughts began to race through my mind as to what excuses I could use to get her to open the towel just enough for me to see, or even remove it entirely if at all possible. Then it dawned on me - I'm actually getting aroused thinking of my own mother! I'm not supposed to have these kinds of thoughts, but then again who could blame me given her beautiful looks and the closeness that we shared.
"Ohhh, this is better than sex." Her drawn out words arouse me from my sensual daydream, bringing me back to the reality of the foot massage. Her head was reclined back and her eyes closed, arms to her side and a look of absolute relief on her face from me removing the stress in her feet.
"How would you know?" I ask in response with a sly look on my face.
"Hey," she responds, opening her eyes and raising her head to look at me. "It hasn't been that long ago!" She feigns a look of indignation as she utters her words, and I just roll my eyes and went back to my work.
"Speaking of which," she continues as she rests her head back on the couch and closes her eyes once again, "what's the dating scene looking like on your end?"